


Seasons Never Stay

by Prosodi



Category: Half Moon Investigations
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosodi/pseuds/Prosodi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fletcher's extended family are in Lock for the holidays and Fletcher feels like an intruder in his own home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons Never Stay

It was winter holiday and they were working a case not because it was either interesting or lucrative (it was neither), but because it was an excellent reason for Fletcher to be out of the house while his family was in town. Not the he didn't love them or didn't like Christmas – he's wasn't a Grinch – but his baby cousins had pitched voiced and it was too crowded by far in the Moon house. Worst of all, his eldest cousin had brought her boyfriend this year. Fletcher suspected they would announce their engagement at some point during the visit, but what Fletcher _knew_ was that he was getting tired of them touching each other's thighs under the table and holding hands where everyone could see. They were also staying in his bedroom (technically just The Boyfriend was, but Fletcher was thirteen so he wasn't naïve), so every time he went to change his clothes, to get a book or a file, he found himself standing in the hall deliberating on whether it was safe to enter.

Which wasn't anything he was likely to discuss with Red. When asked how he was coping, Fletcher shrugged and usually just said, 'It's fine. It's alright.' Which was exactly what he said when Red asked as they stood in the corner store and avoided going back out into the cold quite yet. When there was no follow up, Fletcher looked over and found Red gazing absently out the frosty store windows.

Usually, Fletcher tried to avoid the topic of family – partly because he didn't know if this was the kind of thing that bothers everyone (or if he was being unreasonable) and partly because he didn't want to talk about his family to Red during the holidays.

'What are you doing for Christmas?' he had asked a week ago and Red told him that he and Roddy and his dad would probably go out for dinner. Genie was doing Christmas with a friend. Red didn't seem bothered by it, but to Fletcher it was the sort of thing that made him think complaining about his family - all twelve plus The Boyfriend packed liked sardines into his house - during the hols might be a little. Well. Insensitive or something like it.

'All set?' Red asked. Fletcher flipped up his collar, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and nodded. He'd forgotten his gloves.

They set out across the street, sliding on patches of ice. They kept their heads bowed against the weather. Fletcher's scarf rode up around his ears and he was grateful for it. It was bitter cold as they made their way across town on foot, and his nose quickly started to hurt. They walked very quickly, knocking shoulders every few strides. The snow, he knew, would have cleared out most of the physical evidence left behind, but Fletcher wanted to get a look at the scene of the crime anyway. According to Bernstein, sometimes the location of the crime was as integral to the solution as motive or hard evidence. It seemed like neglect to not take a look just because it was cold and windy and his socks would get soaked through.

As expected, when they arrived there wasn't a lot to be found. Standing opposite of the Hayes house, it all looked like a straightforward bat 'n' smash. Their post box stake was leaned over at a sharp angle, the box itself a mangled shadow of its former self. More than likely secondary school boys - although Fletcher tried not to be judgmental prior to any solid evidence. But Franklin Hayes had insisted it was a personal job and that someone had a vendetta against his family which had led to the smashed up post box, which was at least more interesting than joy riding teenagers getting their kicks by banging in boxes. And, looking right and left up and down the street, Fletcher had to admit that it didn't seem like any other property had been molested.

"If you were going to smash boxes, you'd do a few right?"

"How should I know?" Red asked, stomping across the street with his shoulders up. His heavy boots smashed through the ice. A moment later: "But yeah."

Fletcher slid after him. "It was hypothetical."

There was too much snow and too much ice - no hope of footprints when there wasn't even any cross traffic on the street. Everyone was at home with their family or doing holiday shopping or vacationing some place where it wasn't windy, rainy and miserably cold. They poked around the debris of the post box for a while anyway - Fletcher walked the line of the street up and down a few meters, looking for anything standout. There wasn't anything, but maybe later something he saw will come back to him. It was important to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile Red's face had grown very red from the cold and his eyes were dark enough that it looked like he'd been punched a few times even though Fletcher knew he hadn't.

Eventually Fletcher pulled his hands out of his pockets, cupped them over his mouth and breathed on them hard. His fingertips were burning. 'Come on, there's not much here.'

They headed back a similar way they'd come, cutting through gardens and alongside frozen waterways. When it came time to part - Red to Chez Sharkey and he off in the direction of his own home, to his parents and cousins, they both stall. They stood around, stamped their feet and clapped their hands to fend off the cold. Red put his hands under his armpits and breathed out steam. They talked over the case in vague terms, though there wasn't much to say.

'I think we've got cocoa at the house of you want some,' Red offered.

Fletcher shook his head. 'I should be getting back.' And he really ought to - his parents would be quick to jump on him if he was later than he said he'd be. They only let him off during the days from family obligation because he was very careful about being punctual, had bartered time spent with Red for helping his mother in the kitchen.

'Well here then,' Red said and started to strip off his gloves. 'My house is closer.'

'No, I'm alright,' Fletcher said and waved his hand - which didn't really help his case because his fingertips had gone angry and red from the cold. 'Anyway I've still got that shirt you lent me. At this rate half your clothes will be in my closet.' Which seemed like a pretty solid argument to him, but one which was quickly waylaid by Red catching him by the wrist. Red's fingers were comparatively warm pressed there against Fletcher's numb wrist and palm.

He said something like 'Don't be stupid,' although Fletcher honestly didn't read register it. Red was wearing only one of his gloves, the other already removed and jammed into his armpit. He cupped Fletcher's hands between the two of his and scrubbed it vigorously. Fletcher could feel the tingling sensation of feeling coming back into his fingers and a tingling sensation of vomit coming up into his stomach. His face hurt, but not from the cold.

When he was done with the first hand, Red handed him the glove. 'Put that on,' he said and Fletcher did: pulled the glove on clumsily with his still numb second hand, which Red then took and gave the same treatment while saying, 'We'll split them down the middle.'

'Alright,' said Fletcher because he couldn't say anything else. You couldn't just say no when someone wants to go halfsies on gloves, or socks and shoes, or milkshakes or whatever else people shared.

Red was still rubbing his hand between his. Fletcher's fingers were warm enough, as warm as they were likely to get. Red stopped and Fletcher, who had been staring at his feet or pretty much anywhere else in the world, looked at him. Red's face was flush from the cold, pink all over his face and the back of his neck. He was aware suddenly of a stiffness in Red's fingers, the inherent awkwardness of Fletcher's hand in his. Fletcher was mortified temporarily - thought wildly about his cousin and her boyfriend and them holding hands in the living room.

He shied away from that and his mind jumped to the next thing: he turned his hand, grasped Red's and gave him a firm handshake. Red's face grew hotter. His jaw set. Fletcher recognized the determination there and a half moment later Red's tensed his arm and the handshake ground to a stand still. Fletcher stood rooted to the spot, socks mucky from the snow seeping through his boots, as a muscle in Red's cheek jumped and Red changed the lay of his fingers so that abruptly they were not gripping hands but _holding_ hands which Fletcher immediately recognized as being completely different because of fingers being laced together and also because he wanted to run away but couldn't get his legs to function.

They stood there for what felt like the running time of a George Lucas movie, the tension in both their arms slowly slackening until the clasp of their hands wasn't a barrier but a swinging joint grown loose and easy between them (although Fletcher could still feel his palm sweat despite the cold). Finally, Red cleared his throat and slid his fingers free. He jammed both his hands into the pocket of his leather bomber jacket. Fletcher followed suit, feeling crooked and off balance, a feeling that was by no means helped by the single glove he was wearing. Red's glove.

'I'll see you later Half Moon,' Red said.

'Merry Christmas,' Fletcher said, although there would be plenty of time to say it between then and the actual holiday. He found that his lips were pulled back, that he couldn't stop smiling.

Red kicked snow on him. 'Get out of here,' he growled. 'Call me tomorrow with your plan.'

Sure, tomorrow. Fletcher would call him tomorrow. But for the rest of the day after they parted ways he found himself obsessively running his thumb across the pads of his fingers, giddy and ridiculous. At dinner his cousin and her boyfriend held hands at the dinner table, said blushing that they were getting married. She showed off her engagement ring while Fletcher didn't really care for the ring, he found that he couldn't be annoyed at the way they constantly held on to one another either.


End file.
